


Who Set the Jobberknolls Free?

by tehtarik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Epistolary, F/M, Gen, M/M, Marauders, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:43:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5424407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehtarik/pseuds/tehtarik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is busy hexing Death Eaters and such. Lily is busy changing soiled nappies and singing Christmas carols at the wrong time of the year.</p>
<p>But who set the Jobberknolls free?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Set the Jobberknolls Free?

5/9/1980  
  
Hey there Lily,  
  
Surprised? Been awhile since I came by, thought I’d write to ask how you and Prongs are doing. Good to see you at Harry’s christening—how’s the little man, my godson? He’s got good lungs, that one, reminds me of James when he flew into a Glumbumble-infested beehive back in school.   
  
Hope you both enjoy your new house, heard it’s got a nice view and all.  
  
There’s been a spate of Death Eater attacks across the country and me and Peter and Vance (you remember Elliott?) got ambushed by a bunch of them near Hogsmeade. One of the Death Eaters, Rowle, nearly blew Vance’s arse off. Vance spent a week at St. Mungo’s, sleeping standing up and all.  
  
I’ve got the day to myself and the weather’s good, so I’ll do something different, perhaps. Maybe I’ll slip into the furs and go for a run through the woods as Padfoot the Pooch. And collect plenty of fleas on the way…  
  
Say hi to James and give his hair a good ruffle on my behalf.  
  
  
Cheers,  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
7 September 1980  
  
Dear Sirius,  
  
After all this time?  
  
I’ll be in a state of shock for the next few weeks! How have you been, and how’s Remus? And Peter? Haven’t seen those two for ages!  
  
Harry is well and feeding nicely, greedy little darling. James and I keep a running tally on the numbers of soiled nappies we’ve each had to deal with. I think the main objective of this little game of ours is to keep our respective totals as low as possible…  
  
The new place feels strangely not-strange; I’m resigned to the fact that I may never be able to feel at home anywhere. This is the second time we’ve moved since that godforsaken prophecy, which bestowed upon us the dubious honour of being on Voldemort’s hit list. That being said, Tinworth is acceptable; there’s a beach nearby and we can take Harry for walks in his pram. I imagine he’ll learn how to swim soon! I myself am not very good, but definitely better than you are, Padfoot. Worry not, your fear-of-water secret is safe with me. Aurors are constantly doing their rounds in the nearby town and though Dumbledore doesn’t tell us much, I know he’s been influencing the Ministry to station them around where we live. Neither James nor I really fancy the idea very much, but it’s all for Harry, we keep telling ourselves. Anything and everything for Harry.  
  
Thank you for being there at the christening! You’re officially Harry’s godfather, and you’re well on your way to being a responsible bloke.  
  
So look after yourself, and please watch James’s back when you’re both out on Order business; his recklessness will be the death of him, I swear.  
  
Almost time for Harry to have a feed, gotta go!  
  
  
Lots of love,  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
14/9/80  
  
Yes, ma’am!  
  
Your dearly beloved’s life is safe in my hands. Would you like me to pack a hamper before we go off on our next Order picnic? Carrot sticks and a ham sandwich?  
  
You give Harry a kiss and tell ‘im it’s from his godawfully goddamnably godcharming godfather, one and only. Still can’t believe he isn’t named after me—you’re depriving him!  
  
Sorry Lils, think I’ve had one shot too many.  
  
  
SIRIUS FUCKING BLACK  
  
  
  
  
15 September 1980  
  
I thought of starting my letter with an outpouring of disapproval, Sirius, but I think I’ll just let the mother of a hangover you’re currently nursing do its job. For all your idiocy and your folly, I suppose I miss you. You and James and Peter and Remus together. How are you and Remus, by the way? I’m guessing the four of you meet fairly often, but perhaps it’s high time the lot of you drop in. Harry would love to get to know all of you better.   
  
Things are so different now. Sometimes I feel terribly old and terribly young at the same time. It must be odd to hear this from me; I recall you telling me back in school that I was ‘born grown-up’. One time you accused me of being a Dementor who sucked the life out of everything. It took me a while to forgive you for that.   
  
Anyway, nothing much about me, except I’m trying to decide when the kitchen wallpaper should go, and the best Charm to strip the walls cleanly while leaving the rest of the house intact. My mood these days is anything but pastel. Adulthood: this is what you’ve reduced me to.  
  
  
Love,  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
20 September 1980  
  
Sirius,  
  
James told me how the job went. Honestly, what the fuck are you both playing at? You and James think that we’re still in Hogwarts? Not following Dumbledore’s instructions will just land you a couple of detentions? School is in the past, and the past doesn’t exist for us anymore. You need to get your shit together. We’re living, just barely living, through a war.  
  
  
  
  
21/9/80  
  
Lily,  
  
I’m going to be straight with you, but I don’t quite understand why you’re so pissed off at me. You have every reason to be upset, but why is your anger so personal? Did it come from the bad kitchen wallpaper you were telling me about? Suspect James hasn’t told you the whole story. Speaking of James, has he healed up alright?  
  
Get back to me. We’ll set things straight.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
2 October 1980  
  
Sirius,  
  
I apologise for my outburst. I didn’t mean to pen such an angry letter (I could barely see what I was writing) and then send it off.   
  
I was in such a state and I _knew_ I ought to have stopped myself and cleared my head and thought things through, but I didn’t want to. I simply couldn’t. Because I was in such a state, I suppose. Isn’t it funny how aware we can be of ourselves, and yet how helpless we are to do anything?  
  
Or maybe I’ve never had a lot of control over my own actions. I scold you and James for being reckless but I’m no better.  
  
James came home in the early hours that morning: bloody nose, bloody mouth, bloody scalp, broken arm, too dazed to even cast a simple Healing charm on his face—he shouldn’t have been Apparating in such a state. I tried to drill the talk out of him—who, what, how, why—you know what I’m like, how indelicate I can be. But he was badly shaken-up and wouldn’t say much, except that you and him took a detour from the plans and went through a patch of woods round the back of the house.  
  
Well, I really let poor James have it. I thought the both of you were up to your idiot heroics again, and I told him everything I told you in my last letter; I wish I could take that all back. Then of course I sent you that letter.  
  
James clarified everything the next morning, after we’d both calmed down and spent the whole night mostly not sleeping. He told me about Elliott. I’m still not sure I believe it. Elliott Vance, Emmeline’s older brother? He was five years above us in Hogwarts; he’s someone we actually _know._ He used to greet the newly-arrived first years every September when they first set foot into the Entrance Hall. He used to commentate during Quidditch. Oh, what am I going on about Hogwarts for…it’s all irrelevant now, to Elliott and the rest of us.  
  
I wrote to Emmeline as soon as I heard. James and I went to the funeral later on in the week. I don’t think I’ve ever been so incoherent in my life, standing there in front of Elliott’s casket, offering platitude after platitude to his sobbing family.  
  
Casualties are inevitable. It’s expected. But what are expectations in war? I look around or I read the news or I try to comprehend my own situation and everything seems indecipherable to me. What have we got ourselves into, Sirius?  
  
Anyway, I was hoping I might see you at the funeral so I could apologise in person. Remus and Peter were there. I asked Remus about you, but he didn’t seem to know where you were.   
  
I shouldn’t pry, but you already know what I’m like, so…everything alright with you and Remus?  
  
Until today, James and I are still behaving like blocks of granite toward each other. I really do feel awful for blowing up at him at a time when he could have used a bit of empathy. Sometimes I wish that the communication channels between us are less polluted with all that emotional static, that I can see things with more clarity before I pull the pin on my grenade mouth. Time and space, Lily, everyone needs time and space. I’ve always been overbearing Lily Evans, in everyone’s faces, in everyone’s hair, telling everyone what’s right, what’s wrong, who to vote for, what spell to use to shine their shoes…Lord have mercy on us all, here comes Lily Evans! Elliott Vance said that at an Order meeting last year.  
  
Well, this letter is a mess, isn’t it? I’m going to stop here and wheel Harry out in his pram and take a stroll in the sea breeze. Don’t worry, I’ll look after myself while I’m out, and you’d best do the same, Padfoot.  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
5/10  
  
Lord have mercy on us, here comes Lily Evans? Hah! Guess who Elliott Vance appropriated that phrase from?   
  
Yours truly, of course.   
  
I used to say it back in Hogwarts whenever James and I crossed paths with you. Always said it discreetly, of course, to avoid us all being assaulted by your indignation. My god, when you got angry, your usual sense of justice would go AWOL and suddenly you’d turn into a flaming tyrant, trying to find any excuse to put us lot into detention! With bloody Filch and his no-magic methods as well. Admit it, Lily Potter, you have a penchant for power abuse!  
  
On a more serious note, of course you’re forgiven. It isn’t even an option with me. And if you apologised to James similarly he would forgive you too (he’d be stupid not to), and everything would go back to happily ever after between you two. Come on, you lot, Harry’s soiled nappies are piling up!  
  
The night that Vance died: a bunch of us were at Edward Quirke’s house in Essex. Dumbledore already knows that Voldemort plans to use the Imperius curse on a number of senior Ministry officials. Not too long ago, he caught wind that one of the targeted officials was Quirke, from the Department of International Magical Cooperation.   
  
Anyway, James, Peter, me, Vance and Alice Longbottom were stationed at Quirke’s house that night. As you know, the Death Eaters came, about eight of them, including Travers, Grottish, McGillivray, and one of the Lestranges. We were outnumbered, though Longbottom took down McGillivray and two others on her own. As for James and I, we didn’t exactly take “a detour from the plans”. We just went round the back of the house because we were looking for a way in. That was when we ran into Lestrange and Grottish. They took us by surprise, and James got slammed into a wall by Lestrange’s Disarming spell. Lestrange was going for the killing curse while I was duelling Grottish, and then Vance stepped in and hexed him. Lestrange was blasted a good distance away, though the scumbag still managed to Disapparate and flee the scene.  
  
Vance saved James’s life, Lily. And while we were helping James, who seemed a bit concussed, we never saw Travers. Travers’s curse struck Elliott in the back. It was…god, it was sudden. I’m shaking just thinking about it. One moment Elliott was grinning down at James, asking if he could stand, the next he was keeling over to the side. You could see—you could almost see, what am I saying—he didn’t have time to fight back, Lily. He didn’t have time to defend himself—the fight was fucking robbed from him. He was killed from behind—it wasn’t FAIR. I saw his eyes after he was struck, saw them raided and emptying out.  
  
If I felt awful about Vance’s death, you can imagine James is feeling even worse, blaming himself to kingdom come.  
  
But at least he went to Vance’s funeral. I couldn’t even stomach the thought of going, of having to spare a thought for Elliott and then seeing him die all over again. I’m ashamed of myself. Sometimes I don’t think I deserve to be a Gryffindor.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
22 October 1980  
  
Dear Sirius,  
  
I found it awfully hard to process parts of your letter, namely your account of what happened. Nevertheless, I needed to know. I’m obsessed with making sense of things, and James isn’t being very cooperative at the moment.  
  
You and James: you’re both a couple of idiots with egos as large and taut and fragile as overinflated balloons. You’re both so eager to jump into the fray, to declare that you’d die for each other, for the good of this world, to save innocents, to be symbols of— _ahem_ —manly hope. Such rubbish. You would both sacrifice yourselves on honourable altars so you can live on in legend. Let me ask you something: if you would give so much of yourself in the name of good, would you also be willing to receive just as much? Oh come on, not everyone can give and give and give. Who will receive? If someone sacrificed their life for you, then what? So gracious we are in giving, so stricken are we in taking?  
  
Does this, then, render all sacrifices hollow?  
  
As you can see, I’m in a cheerful mood.  
  
I’m a little frazzled at the moment. Harry has been quite colicky these days. Every evening, just before dinner, he starts howling and no amount of rocking and swaying and singing (Celestina, of course) can calm him down. He cries for a good forty minutes each time, and once the forty minutes are done, he stops abruptly. I think he was born with a stopwatch inside him. I carry him until my arms ache; I can’t bear to even let James hold him for a moment when he’s in such a state. I rock him and I sing until my throat cracks but he doesn’t stop. Maybe he hates my voice.  
  
Sometimes I get claustrophobic, caught between Harry’s colic and the big bad war outside, like a wolf peering into the window.  
  
Don’t worry, James and I will come around, definitely because of the soiled nappies. I must say, though, your perception of marital life is a disturbingly naïve one.  
  
You still haven’t mentioned Remus. You can’t evade me forever, you know.  
  
  
Lots of love,   
Lily  
  
  
  
  
31/10  
  
Dear Lils,   
  
Such refreshing cynicism! I laughed, sorry if I wasn’t supposed to, but you’re pretty funny for someone who was born grown-up.  
  
I’ve been stationed outside a Death Eater’s house for the last few nights. Mulciber, remember him? Charming fellow—used to slop bacon grease and egg yolk down the front of his robes every morning at breakfast. His eating habits haven’t improved: I saw him leaving his plush manor home with tea splotches on his clothes.  
  
Moody’s been preventing me from going on more dangerous missions after what happened at Quirke’s house. Said that I could do with “a bit of space between ordeals”. Honestly? Moody is so full of shit, sometimes.  
  
I had no idea babies could get colic. I thought it was a horse disease of some sort. No idea, but I hope things haven’t been too hard on you,  
  
It’s Halloween; I really could do with a drink. I guess I’ll be making a trip to the Three Broomsticks tonight, and I’ll be having extra pints: one for you, one for James and one for Harry.  
  
  
Cheers!  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
1 November 1980  
  
Dear Padfoot,  
  
I burned the pumpkin pie last night. Third consecutive Halloween of scorched pie. I took it out of the oven, saw that it was unsalvageable, and proceeded to set it down on the table as though nothing was wrong with it. James looked at me and I looked at him and we both looked at the pie and then burst out laughing. And to think that all that time, you were sitting comfortably in front of a blazing fire at the Three Broomsticks, as James and I contemplated our charred pudding.  
  
Tell me what happened between you and Remus when you can.  
  
  
Love,  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
3 November 1980  
  
Dear Padfoot,  
  
Happy birthday! Harry sends you his biggest grin, and I’ve enclosed a parcel of Chocolate Frogs. James wanted to add a bottle of Ogden’s Firewhiskey to the package but I forbade him to, under the pretext that it would be cruel to overload the owl.  
  
Take care!  
  
  
Lots of love,  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
18/11  
  
Lily,  
  
Concerning me and Remus: whatever it is about us that you’ve been theorising to James is probably correct. Remus and I have very little to do with each other these days. Don’t know when it started, suppose I should’ve seen it coming.  
  
Whether he’s withdrawn into his little cube of pain or whether he’s found someone else, I don’t know. You think James blocks you out sometimes? Moony here tends to retreat deep into the hole of his self as regularly as breakfast. He’s had a couple of awful full moons over the year and sometimes I wish I could help him a bit more, but days keep going by and I get more and more useless to him.  
  
Dumbledore’s putting him up to some serious Order business, wants him to go deep underground and connect with the werewolf network. Fenrir Greyback is recruiting werewolves into an alliance with Voldemort, and Remus is supposed keep Dumbledore up to date on what Greyback plans to do with his delightful crew.  
  
That’s hell of a lot of responsibility being heaped on poor Moony; I don’t know what the devil Dumbledore is thinking.  
  
I offered to help, to be back-up in case he needed a way out but Remus cut me right off, told me the fewer connections he has to the Order, the safer he and everyone else will be.  
  
I heard from James that he doesn’t see Remus a lot either. Out of the four of us: me, James, Remus and Peter—who did you think was the most likely to drift apart, once we were out of Hogwarts? I know what’s going through your head: of course it kills me, but I’ve run into a wall, and I’m too fucking exhausted to try to dismantle it. And Remus is strong, far stronger than I am when it comes to this obstruction between us. He wins, he always wins.   
  
Anyway, Moony’s excuse is that things will be better this way between us.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
P.S: Thanks for the chocolate frogs. Feel a bit sick, though, as I ate them all by myself, now that there’s nobody here to snatch them off me. Moony always had terrible manners.  
  
  
  
  
22 November 1980  
  
As you know, I’m itching to interfere.  
  
I read your letter to James, and he agrees that Dumbledore’s placing a burden that’s almost impossible for Remus to shoulder on his own.  
  
Don’t cut ties completely with Remus. Check on him regularly; do not let him go into this alone. Don’t let good things die, Padfoot.  
  
  
Concerned as always,  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
28/11  
  
Remus can look after himself. I told you: I did offer. For once, I’m sick of being pushed aside, because supposedly I “won’t understand” and “things are better this way”. Leave it, Lily. You and James. This has nothing to do with you both.  
  
Sorry for such a terse letter, but I’m exhausted.  
  
  
  
  
13 December 1980  
  
Dear Sirius,  
  
You sound awful. Also, a tad peevish. How are you keeping? I know it’s been a rough year for all of us, but listen, Christmas is just around the corner. Let’s put aside our misery for a couple of days, shall we? Surely the world will stop turning once a year, for Christmas.  
  
Dinner on the 24th? It will just be James, Harry and I this year. Do you really want Harry to grow up godfatherless?  
  
But really, it has been far too long since I’ve seen you. Please say yes.  
  
  
Love,  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
25 December 1980  
  
Dear Padfoot,  
  
Happy Christmas!  
  
I half expected you to turn up, even though you didn’t say yes. But no worries: I understand. Time and space, Lily, everyone needs time and space.  
  
James and I spent the whole of yesterday getting dinner ready. We may or may not have got into a bit of a spat when he tried to juggle potatoes to amuse Harry, and of course he dropped them, and one of them hit the cat, which sprang onto the dresser and sent a row of china dishes (a gift from my late mother) clattering to the ground. Said cat then went on to jump onto the kitchen counter and knock off a tureen of gravy, which made a nice slop all over the kitchen tiles. We half-expected Harry to start wailing, but the little darling found the whole scene most amusing. So with him chuckling and burbling happily at everything, of course James and I couldn’t stay too mad at each other.  
  
We strung up the whole house with holly wreaths and mistletoe, probably to overcompensate for the quieter-than-usual Christmas.  
  
I think we must have snogged six times getting from the sitting room to the kitchen. ‘Snogging stations’ is how James refers to each spot beneath a sprig of mistletoe. It became a bit of a nuisance after the first three hours, so I started mapping a careful path through the house, avoiding those stupid green shoots. James called me a spoilsport.  
  
Today was a far quieter day, though. The weather was awful. Harry has been grizzling most of the time, napping fitfully and being generally unenthusiastic at feeding time. We did discover something new about our darling boy, though! Turns out that he finds Celestina Warbeck’s Christmas hits soothing!   
  
_God rest ye, merry Hippogriffs, in eyries high and cold!  
On this calm night, the twenty-fifth, there shines a star of gold!_   
  
We sat by the fire with the wireless turned on and listened to carol after carol. At first it was fine, but by the end of the day, I began to feel hemmed in and bored and I told James to mind Harry for a bit—I absolutely _had_ to go out, if even for a few minutes.  
  
But outside, all that pounding sea wind gave me a headache. I could hardly walk in the gale. I trudged a short distance down the beach and then gave up and turned back. It was more miserable outside than inside. I remember last Christmas so well—you, me, James, Remus, Peter and a few others from the Order at your flat, laughing too much, forgetting that we were in the middle of a war, making the silliest of toasts.  
  
Harry is waking again; I can hear him fretting in his cot. Off I go, then, always at his beck and call. Hope you’re well, Sirius, and that you had a wonderful Christmas.  
  
  
Lily  
  
P.S: Enclosed a photo of Harry! That red and green velvet atrocity he’s swaddled in is the product of my latest hobby: knitting.  
  
  
  
  
31 December 1980  
  
Sirius, oh GOD I should _not_ be writing. My head is spinning a little and I’m all toasty because I’ve got this spike of mulled wine lodged inside me and I hope it stays there forever. I made James pour me a drink—not sure if supposed to drink—breastfeeding  & all, oh well, at least Harry will sleep better tonight? Fuck, I’m terrible.  
  
Don’t care, though, because I’m so, so happy at the moment, don’t know why. This mulled wine almost-literally _talks_ to me, you know? I just want to say,  & I’ve been telling James this all evening but: all the shit days we’ve ever had can’t get to me, not right now, not in this perfect rare moment spinning round in my head.  
  
I even made resolutions for next year:  
  
1\. Don’t burn the pumpkin pie on Halloween  
2\. Get Harry toilet-trained ASAP  
3\. How about staying alive?  
  
I’m going to listen to James now (god, what a nag!!!) and go to bed. He says hello, by the way. And that he’s not a nag. And that I’m royally pissed and don’t know what I’m writing.  
  
  
Happy New Year,  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
1/1/1981  
  
Lily,  
  
Happy New Year! To you and James and Harry! And Prongs, mate, if you’re reading this, nice one!   
  
Lily, just so you know, you weren’t the only one sending me photographs. Your dearly beloved here enclosed a photo of you all red-cheeked and half falling over. Maybe you want to be more careful with who you choose to send off your letters?  
  
Sounds like the both of you had the cosiest time on Christmas Eve, sorry I couldn’t be there, but at the same, glad I wasn’t. Snogging stations, huh? Lily, you’d be tripping James and me over until we landed on one of those stops—I know you, you’re devious as hell.  
  
As for me, I spent Christmas alone as Padfoot the Mangy Cur. I made it to Yorkshire where the wind was howling through the moors and went for a run in the biting cold. Went sniffing rabbit trails and all! God, it’s good to be a mindless animal--don’t laugh at me ‘till you try it! But you’re right, next year we should make a bit more of an effort. Get a bit more celebratory, learn to appreciate the time of the year.  
  
I’m going right back to Order business. Stationed outside some Ministry official’s house, going with Peter tonight.  
  
  
Cheers!  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
7 January 1981  
  
Sirius,  
  
I can see right through you, you pathetic idiot.  
  
Spending Christmas running about in the moors, pretending to have all the freedom in the world? “A mindless animal”? Ignorance is bliss? Keep up with your wishful thinking. Admit it, you were miserable all day: you wished yourself dead. There was nothing around you but black wind-scorched heather and when you went nosing about burrows, it smelt like rabbit farts and rotting vegetation in there. You wouldn’t have enjoyed sniffing all that because you’re not really a dog; you’re still you, and you were downright miserable. Your last letter reeked of misery.  
  
At least I’m honest; I tell you that for everything I have, it isn’t enough. I’ve got Harry and I’ve got James. We’d do anything for each other, and all this still isn’t enough. I’ve got _you_ to write to, and it still isn’t enough. And I won’t know what enough really is, not even when I get it.  
  
I enjoy hearing from you, but this enjoyment diminishes when you start putting on masks and trying on feelings that you don’t really feel.  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
10/1  
  
I didn’t want to saturate all our letters with bleakness, so forgive me if I was trying to frame the world in a better angle.  
  
Good to see James out in the field again. And as always, you don’t have to worry. We’ve got each other’s backs.  
  
Something’s up with Peter: I think the strain of all this Order work is getting to him. He was a complete mess the other night when Moody had us both posted near Staines Bridge. We were discussing the recent rash of Muggle attacks in the area when he sat down on the snow and began to break up. He has always been far more brittle than the lot of us, but that night it was obvious that his nerves are in pretty bad shape.  
  
He said he’d seen all this coming, even when we were back in Hogwarts, he’d seen the war brewing and known it would blow up in our faces and nobody fucking took him seriously. I told him nobody’s forcing him to stay in the Order. See Dumbledore—Dumbledore will understand. He was an inch from bawling.  
  
Anyway, we had to abandon our post. I got him to the nearest apothecary for a Calming Draught.  
  
I just saw him today; he seems fine, though a bit glassy-eyed and embarrassed about the whole fuss. I looked at him closely, and for a minute there I couldn’t recognise him. He said he’ll stay on in the Order, though.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
1/3  
  
Lily,  
  
James and you having another one of those times? He seemed a bit down today. Not my business to pry etc., but maybe I’ll take a leaf out of your book.  
  
Stay safe.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
12 March 1981  
  
Dear Sirius,  
  
I look back at the past few months and can’t help marvelling at how inexplicably we slipped into this habit of writing letters to each other. Most of the time, I find letters a bother to write, which makes our somewhat steady correspondence something of a miracle. (I’m expecting to hear some bragging about what a charming lovable soul you are etc.)  
  
Harry has been hoovering up every spare crumb of time that I have. Nearly eight months now! He crawls; he climbs; he still hasn’t taken his first step, but he’s a cheerful one. He still wakes up at least twice a night, which is a bother. Last night was particularly exhausting. My throat is still a little raw from singing Celestina Warbeck’s Christmas Hits; those are the only songs that work when it comes to coaxing him to sleep, as we discovered last December.  
  
Few weeks ago there were a number of Death Eater attacks on Muggle businesses near Surrey, where my sister lives. The Muggles have attributed the blame to a gang of serial vandals, but of course we know better. So I wrote to Petunia, explaining to her the reality of the incidents happening in her neighbourhood, and asking her and Vernon to be careful, especially since they have a baby boy of their own.  
  
I don’t know what I was hoping for.   
  
Maybe I was being wildly optimistic, because after all, she did send me a gift for Christmas, ugly as it was. I took that as a sign, something to convince myself that it was time to reopen a line of communication with her. Maybe I thought something good could come out of this war: you’ve heard the phrase: war tears some people apart and slams others together. Dudley (Harry’s cousin) is around the same age as Harry; maybe Petunia and I could exchange photos? Have mother-to-mother and sister-to-sister conversations where we can bemoan all the woes of motherhood together.  
  
Anyway, Petunia returned my letter along with the photo of Harry I’d sent her, accompanied by a rather accusatory note that all the troubles of this world stem from “the doings of my kind”, and that she and her family were better off if they were completely disengaged from our world. In other words: get the fuck out of our lives.  
  
I sent her a very vicious Howler just to give her and that awful Vernon a nasty shock, and then I regretted instantly. I hope baby Dudley wasn’t too frightened by that. I feel like an awful human being, but right now I’m far too despondent to care. I suppose some wars will never end, and that peace does not necessarily mean mending breaches.  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
18/3  
  
Hey there Lily,   
  
Meet my dead Death Eater of a brother, Regulus Arcturus Black.  
  
There’s a lot of shit I regret when it comes to my brother. Like why didn’t I clobber him over the head when he was little so that he would grow up with some sense. Why didn’t I teach him to set fire to the family tree tapestry in our house, so that the whole diseased plant can stop bearing its crop of rotten ideals. And maybe Regulus wouldn’t have been so easily swayed by the notions of power, so desperate for acceptance. But I didn’t, and so we chose different paths.  
  
I’m nothing like you, Lily. I never reached out to him. He was different from me and James, and I thought Regulus weak, a lost case, but he was lost only because I never cared enough.  
  
The hardest thing about Regulus’s death is that there’s no exact account of his passing. He joined Voldemort’s side, he ran away, he got killed. No body, no trace of him ever having lived. He died a stranger to me and even to the family that loved him so. There are holes in our lives and some of them are unfillable and some of them are fine. I regret his death greatly, but honestly, I don’t miss him. Then again, we don’t have enough of ourselves to mourn every single thing in our lives.  
  
If I ever knew Regulus for who he truly was, I have forgotten by now.  
  
Well, there you go. Hope this makes you feel better about yourself.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
20 March 1981  
  
You’re quite mistaken if you think revealing your own shortcomings will make me feel as though I’m an exemplary human being in comparison.  
  
I forgot about Regulus. I never knew him well, though I do remember stumbling upon the both of you arguing somewhere on the deserted seventh floor. That was sometime during our fourth year, and you were saying some awfully venomous things to each other. Both of you shot me the coldest of glares when you saw me.  
  
I suppose we’re not so different, you and I. James, though—James wouldn’t understand. He’s always had a loving, accepting family, and later on, you and Remus and Peter came into his life to further fortify the walls of his bliss. That’s why we both love James: because he’s so lovably ignorant. He’s almost pure.  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
29/3  
  
Hey Lils,  
  
Things have been a bit chaotic lately. I’m sure James told you everything but anyway, Dumbledore spoke to us both: something’s awry, he said. Someone’s passing information to Voldemort, someone within the Order has turned traitor. Death Eaters seem to be turning up in areas where Order members are stationed. Gideon Prewett and Benjy Fenwick were ambushed and Fenwick would’ve been killed if the Longbottoms hadn’t appeared in the nick of time.  
  
We won’t be meeting so often any more. Dumbledore will contact us individually or in small groups if he wants to assign us with any tasks.  
  
I forgot about that time you walked in on Regulus and I having a go at each other. It’s lucky you showed up, because anyone who quotes my dear old mother to me is pretty much asking to have their arse hexed off.  
  
Good old Hogwarts days, huh?  
  
  
Love,  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
2 April 1981  
  
Dear Sirius,  
  
Yes, I heard about the possibility of a traitor within the Order. I feel like I’ve known all of them since forever; how could betrayal even be an option for any of us?  
  
Schooldays are fading away for me. It’s surreal to think that we ever existed in a time other than the one we are presently living through.  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
4/4  
  
Lily,  
  
In case you’re fading away, let me give you a brief summary of yourself: you’re Lily Potter, though you attended school as Lily Evans. You were sorted into Gryffindor. You were the sole object of our James’s desire. You hated our James with all of your blistering hate. You loathed me as well. You were Dumbledore’s favourite. You were Slughorn’s favourite. You were McGonagall’s favourite. You were ruthless with executing the law. You sent friend and foe alike to detention. You started the peer-to-peer support meetings in sixth and seventh year, which was really a front for recruiting school-leavers to the Order.  
  
At some point you stopped hating me and James. At some point we became friends. At some point—recognise yourself, yet?  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
5 April 1981  
  
I detect that old recklessness in your words. Be careful where you’re going with this, Padfoot.  
  
Was I really that ruthless when it came to law and order at Hogwarts? Funny, I remember something: I’ve actually broken into Filch’s office and peeked into his cabinet. You’ll be proud to know that your legacy at Hogwarts is one overstuffed, grubby file containing your unabridged pranking history for the seven years you were at school. James’s file was just as shocking.  
  
Harry is catapulting spoonfuls of his porridge and banana puree across the room. Oh Harry, Harry, Harry.  
  
  
Got to run!  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
6/4  
  
Peeking into my detention file, Lily? I should have filched that from Filch’s office before I left school! Would have been a great keepsake for Hogwarts days.  
  
Just thought of something: while you were looking through the file, do you, by chance, know who set the Jobberknolls free?  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
7 April 1981  
  
No idea what you’re referring to. File too thick for me to go through each individual entry.  
  
  
  
  
8/4  
  
The brevity of your last letter is very telling.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
9 April 1981  
  
In contrast, your last letter was incredibly obscure.   
  
  
  
  
10/4  
  
Let me clarify.  
  
Fifth year.   
  
Subject: Care of Magical Creatures.   
  
Taught by: Professor Silvanus Kettleburn, cranky old git.  
  
The topic is Jobberknolls. Bunch of small blue speckled birds. They’ll flutter about, preen their feathers, peck at each other, but you won’t get a single tweet out of them. Not a whistle. Kettleburn keeps a cage with a pair of Jobberknolls in his office, and some days he brings them to class. We’re supposed to make all manner of sounds for the birds to hear, and so we do. We ring bells at them. We turn on the wireless and play Celestina Warbeck. We bring in a couple of un-potted baby Mandrakes.   
  
Anyway, you know the point of all these lessons. Jobberknolls don’t make any sound until the moment before death. Just before they die, the buggers scream, and compressed into that long scream are all the sounds they’ve ever heard in their lives.  
  
Kettleburn keeps those two birds in the cage because they’re supposedly aged specimens, and we’re waiting for them to die. Then they’ll scream their dying scream and then we can start our essays on memory aids and Jobberknoll feathers etc.  
  
Any day now, Kettleburn keeps announcing to us, any day and one of them will shriek.  
  
But one afternoon, we turn up for class and the cage door is wide open and the Jobberknolls are gone.  
  
Nobody comes forward to confess, and so Kettleburn holds James and me accountable. Off he goes, raging to McGonagall, even though we swear we’re innocent. We get slapped with a week’s detention for ‘sabotaging lessons and impeding the learning process of fellow classmates’.  
  
But what am I telling you such a long story for, Lily?   
  
All I want to know is: that night when the Jobberknolls went missing, why were you hurrying down the corridor, from the direction of Kettleburn’s office?  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
11 April 1981  
  
Sirius,  
  
I’ve got the strangest feeling that you’re trying to jog my memory about something.  
  
Who set the Jobberknolls free? Is that what you really wanted to know? Or were you angling at something else?  
  
Were you perhaps wondering what happened after I’d left Kettleburn’s office? When I ran straight into you and we got into an argument and then Filch nearly caught us somewhere so we had to hide in a classroom and seal the door? Are you trying to manipulate me into confessing that yes, I did kiss you that night in that empty classroom, as I had kissed you several other times during that year, our fifth year at Hogwarts? Maybe even more, for a couple of times. If you wanted to…reminisce about those times, you should have just got to the point. I’m not afraid of talking about them; I most certainly don’t fear you. Maybe that’s why we retreated so suddenly from each other at the end of that year: we never got to the point. We never acknowledged each other publicly, or all the knots that tangled us together in the past. We don’t even get to the point now.  
  
I’ve never told James about you and I, and I bet my life that you haven’t, either. I would tell him in a heartbeat, though, and perhaps someday I shall, but not right now. We haven’t had a moment’s peace since we all left school. Bloody war has been in the way of almost everything.  
  
Why bring this up in the first place?  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
12/4  
  
I didn’t mean to make things awkward. I was genuinely curious about the Jobberknolls; it’s one of the mysteries of life that I haven’t managed to solve. It just seemed so out of character for you to deliberately sabotage a lesson. I did confront you the next day after Kettleburn raged at me and James and gave us all those detentions. But you kept feigning ignorance and denying everything.  
  
Anyway, that was all I wanted to know. Nothing else. Didn’t mean to open that can of worms, so the saying goes. As you said, schooldays are in the past, and the past doesn’t exist for us anymore.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
13 April 1981  
  
Huh, so you bring us treacherously close to that subject (don’t lie to me, you did it intentionally), then you suddenly withdraw and say you didn’t mean to stir up discomfort between us? Now I know why we avoided each other after fifth year, why you didn’t write that summer except for a few pithy notes dripping with false cheeriness. It wasn’t because of me; it was you. If you want us to discuss something, I expect you to have the guts to go through with it all the way; I don’t care what sort of emotional territory we cross into. I never thought you were the sort to make half-journeys. But with me, you’ve always set a line, and when your toes scrape this boundary, you withdraw as far back as you can, as though I’ve got the plague or some shit.  
  
Re the Jobberknolls: I didn’t set them free. Are your thoughts at peace now?  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
14/4  
  
I can sit here swearing to kingdom bloody come that I didn’t mean to bring up the history of our past but you won’t listen. So just keep on with the fucking accusations, Lily Potter. You were always great with them.  
  
I don’t regret fifth year. I don’t regret us shutting each other up with kisses, the whole should-we-shouldn’t-we situation, or when you grabbed my hair in the Great Hall and dragged me all the way down the corridor with everyone else snorting and you cursing at me, only for us both to wind up in some empty classroom, snogging. The whole smokescreen of hate and resentment. Are all these admissions what you wanted to hear? Because I don’t have a qualm admitting them to you. I loved you Lily Potter, troublesome as you were, but not enough. I love James more. He was the only reason why we stopped, and I’m using ‘we’ here, because we were both aware of him all through our time together. Even though the both of you were nowhere close to affection, not yet, not in fifth year. Yet we kept asking each other, what about James?  
  
Well, what about James?  
  
And you say you would tell him about us? Load of bollocks, Lily Potter, load of fucking bollocks. Why haven’t you? Don’t give me that shit about not having a moment’s peace—you’ve had plenty of moments together. You’re Mrs Lily Potter because you love James, because we both love him. If I have to keep well away from you or James in order to not ruin everything the both of you have, then god help me because I will, without a moment’s hesitation, I will. Forget about everything between us, Lily, and don’t let him ever know about us. James is the only person holding all of us together in his blessed obliviousness.  
  
Sorry, but I won’t be writing for awhile. We need some time to bury things.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
P.S: Re the Jobberknolls: I don’t believe you. You had something to do with them.  
  
  
  
  
28 May 1981  
  
Dear Sirius,  
  
I’m sure you know what’s happened by now. Or if not, then you’ll find out soon. We’re all quite badly rattled; I think we were drawn into a sense of lull, me especially.  
  
We’re moving; we have to. This house isn’t safe any longer. I was just beginning to enjoy Tinworth, but it’s too late now. I went out wading in the sea last week, carrying Harry in my arms and dipping his feet into the warm water. He loved it. And now we’re moving. Now this infinitesimal sense of home, something which I waited so long for, is being stolen from me.  
  
We’re moving. Dumbledore has suggested a place and we’re packing our things and moving. I’m so fucking angry and upset when I should be thankful that the three of us are alright, that our family is still intact. But we’re moving again.  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
29/5  
  
Lily,  
  
Heard from Dumbledore shortly after I received your letter. I’m coming over tonight. Tell James.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
15/6  
  
Lily,  
  
Told you I’d write before I left, so here I am.   
  
I know it must be tough moving again so soon—just when you were finally beginning to settle into your old place…I got the news about the attack and my heart nearly stopped, I quite forgot to breathe. I cannot fucking bear the thought of losing you. Harry. James. Not any of you. I don’t know what I’d do, I’d tear the world up, I’d shred myself because I wouldn’t know what to do—  
  
But I trust Dumbledore, he recommended Godric’s Hollow, said it was the village he grew up in, said you and James and Harry would be safe there.  
  
I’m sorry, Lily. From the bottom of my heart, truly. Harry should not have to grow up in a world so fraught with danger, so threatened by loss. He should not be hunted and marked upon the moment of birth. You should not have to run. I don’t know what else to say, except I’ll try to visit regularly for a bit.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
16 June 1981  
  
Dear Sirius,  
  
It’s okay. We’re fine. I’ve calmed down a bit. This new house is as hostile as the one in Tinworth when we first moved in there. Tinworth was noisy, full of waves and broken cliffs and wind. Godric’s Hollow is subtler in its antagonism. It’s such a peaceful place, but peace is such an alien concept to me that it feels quite hostile. Bathilda Bagshot, our new neighbour, has been very welcoming, though; she brought us a dish of piping hot raisin scones yesterday. Dumbledore has been to visit us a couple of times since we moved in.  
  
I think about the attack last month and I feel nothing but a strange disconnect from it, as though last month wasn’t even part of my life anymore. Every single day is compounded of just so many moments of tension, of living on the edge of safety. Every single day I have to detach myself from every other day I’ve lived through, or else I’ll never fucking survive. If this is Voldemort’s method of assassinating me and Harry, I must say he’s a bloody genius.   
  
I think about Tinworth and I realise that I don’t remember the taste of salt anymore. I think about how close I came to losing everything and I just shake my head and think, well, I’m still here. I haven’t lost. Not yet. I’m not brave or cynical. But there’s a gap between me and the rest of the world and each day it grows bigger.  
  
I’m exhausted. Harry has been sleeping in our bed for the last few nights.  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
18 June 1981  
  
Thank you for coming over, Sirius! James was overjoyed to see you, even though he put up that whole “you-again” show when you turned up. You and Prongs make a most marvellous couple, you know? After you left, he was singing _God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs_ while preparing dinner, and Harry loved it, of course.   
  
It has been a couple of weeks since James has stepped out of the house, and he’s planning to don the old Cloak and steal out and meet up with you and stuff. But I know he’s in a bit of a dilemma—doesn’t want to leave me and Harry alone again.  
  
  
Lots of love,  
Lily  
  


  
6 July 1981  
  
Dear Padfoot,  
  
I can’t tell you how happy that last Order meeting made me. First meeting I’ve been to in more than a year! Almost everybody was there as well. You, Remus, Peter, Dumbledore, Emmeline, Moody, the Prewetts, the Longbottoms…I needed that meeting, even though it was mostly gloom and doom in terms of how we’re faring in the war.  
  
For a couple of hours, I felt like a full Order member once again, not some pitiful target under constant Auror surveillance. Moody gave me a copy of the photograph we took. Elliott should be in there. I feel awful that I haven’t written to Emmeline lately, but it was good talking to her. She swears she’s going to take out Travers one day; she swore it to me in a voice that turned my blood cold. Somehow I think she’s going to get what she wants.  
  
I’m sorry to see that you and Remus haven’t quite patched things up. Hope it doesn’t bother you too much if I bring him up…he looked like he was in poor shape—I tried talking to him, but he told me very little about his Order work with the werewolves. He wasn’t quite happy to be present; apparently, he took a huge risk attending this meeting? Greyback is getting mighty suspicious with him. I do wish you’d reach out to Remus, Sirius.  
  
Anyway, Harry’s about to eat the geraniums in the jar, so I’d best be off to do something about it. He missed James and me dreadfully when we were at the meeting; Bathilda told me how he grizzled the whole time and tried to crawl up the windowsill to escape and look for us. Can you imagine, he’ll be turning one by the end of this month!  
  
  
Love,  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
12/7  
  
Hey there Lily,  
  
Haven’t been able to visit since the meeting, Dumbledore’s got my nose to the grindstone with Order business. I’m not sure if I can come so often these days. But I’ll try. Heard James has taken up knitting! I shouldn’t laugh, poor bloke must be feeling awfully restless. But the other night we met up he was whingeing about his wife being an awful knitter, and that he can probably do better! So he’s going to out-knit you, I suppose.  
  
As for Harry, I’ll turn up on his birthday as Padfoot the dog and I’ll give him rides.  
  
  
Siriusly,  
Padfoot  
  
  
  
  
21/7  
  
Lily,  
  
Did you hear about the McKinnons? Dumbledore informed the Order that Marlene and her whole family have been killed in a grisly Death Eater attack. Their entire house was ablaze by the time the Aurors got there, and no amount of magic could put the flames out. The Ministry think that Fiendfyre was used to wipe out the McKinnons. I couldn’t help it, I had to fucking _see_ so I went to the ruins of their home, and that pile of rubble was still smoking—I can’t offer any other explanation because I have none. Meanwhile, Death Eater attacks are cropping up all over the place. Six Muggles killed yesterday in an explosion at a train station. Twenty or so Muggles dead when their bus skidded off the road and plunged into a ravine. They’re targeting Muggle transportation, Lily. Easiest way to knock off people. I don’t know what we’ve got ourselves into, but the world is going crazy.  
  
Please, take care of Harry, you and James.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
30/7  
  
Hey Lils,  
  
I know I promised to come by for Harry’s birthday, but Dumbledore’s put me up to something. Vindictus Crabbe: Death Eater whom Dumbledore suspects is responsible for the Fiendfyre at the McKinnons’ place. I’m going with the Longbottoms to investigate Crabbe tomorrow.  
  
Sorry I won’t be able to make it for the little man’s big day, I was looking forward to it and all. Anyway, I did promise you that I’d give him rides, but since I can’t be there, I’ve enclosed a little something as a gift. I’m sure Prongs will approve, and so will Harry, if he’s anything like his dad.  
  
  
Love,  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
8 August 1981  
  
Sirius,  
  
Goodness, what happened to the owl?! Did you get my last letter (dated the fourth of August) alright? I’m borrowing Bathilda’s owl at the moment; poor Hecate’s wing is broken and she’s completely disoriented. She looks like she’s flown through a hurricane.  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
9/8  
  
Definitely did not get your last letter, no idea where it went. I’ve tipped Dumbledore off. Suspect someone attacked your owl, which means the Death Eaters have a good idea where your new house is. You’re being watched, Lily. Dumbledore is on his way to Godric’s Hollow even as I’m writing this to set up some protective wards. DO NOT GO OUT OF THE HOUSE UNTIL DUMBLEDORE ARRIVES.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
22/8  
  
Hey Lily,   
  
Dorcas Meadowes was killed today. Edgar Bones reported to Dumbledore who quickly got the word spread to the rest of the Order members. Her and Bones were attacked by Voldemort himself. There have been rumours of Voldemort descending into the fray, but we sort of dismissed them because we thought Voldemort was beyond the battlefield and such. But Bones saw him, said he was right there along with Mulciber and Goyle and Marlow and some others. He killed Dorcas Meadowes personally, shot the Killing Curse right at her heart—poor girl died on the spot. Dorcas was Muggle-born; I don’t envy Dumbledore’s task of informing her parents of her death.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
31 August 1981  
  
Dear Padfoot,  
  
Last day of summer, though really, summer left a long time ago.  
  
These days I swing between crying and getting through the day in a sort of machine-like mode. Order members are dying like flies, and sometimes I do wonder, when will it be our turn? Is Voldemort winning?  
  
Dumbledore has set up the wards around our house; we can still get in and out, though it isn’t safe, I suppose. Sometimes I go over to Bathilda’s. James and Bathilda discuss crocheting patterns regularly; I’ve given up on my knitting needles. Come winter, I’ll let James take the glory and declare himself supreme winner and designer of Harry’s wardrobe.  
  
James should have a victory of some sort; he more than deserves one.  
  
  
Love,  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
5/9  
  
Lils,  
  
Don’t know if you noticed, but it’s been exactly a year since we started writing to each other. The past twelve months have been hellish—so much has been taken from us, and yet I’m grateful. Sometimes, your letters were the only thing that kept me going.  
  
Voldemort will not win, I’ve never been so sure in my life. The odds seem to be stacked against us, and fucking shame on those odds. The unlikelier victory is, the more convinced I am. Maybe you’ll put me in place, tell me it’s all my enthusiastic dog’s optimism, and that I’m too simple to exist, but I swear it’s true. Voldemort will never triumph, not against you, or James, or Harry.  
  
Thank you for all your letters, Lily, sincerely.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
20/9  
  
Lily,  
  
Sorry to be such a harbinger for bad news, but the Prewetts are dead. Fabian and Gideon, ambushed by five Death Eaters. So is Benjy Fenwick. All three killed last night, in two separate incidents across the country.  
  
I think of our last Order meeting, of almost all of us gathered in the same space, and I get paranoid. Was that one of Dumbledore’s wisest decisions? After all, he does suspect that there’s someone who’s turned traitor in our midst. That stupid photograph Moody made us pose for: suddenly it sounds like a hit list for Voldemort. Perhaps they’re targeting people in that picture, knocking us off one by one. But if there really is a traitor then Voldemort would’ve known who’s who a long time ago.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
6/10  
  
Lily,  
  
If you’re reading this then you’ll know that I’ve Charmed the letter, and will continue to do so from now on. They’ll be unreadable unless opened by your wand, don’t want to risk information being intercepted.  
  
Death Eater activity getting closer and closer to Godric’s Hollow. Dumbledore becoming worried. He’s suggested a new means of protection for the three of you. Not going to explain in writing, but Dumbledore and I will be visiting first thing tomorrow morning. See you then.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
14/10  
  
Dear Lily,  
  
I know you and James are having some doubt about the whole arrangement.  
  
It was Dumbledore’s idea, this, and a brilliant one it is, too.   
  
Anyone can be Secret Keeper, as long as they’re willing to keep the secret. It’s not hard. No amount of truth serum, no Cruciatus curse can pry the secret out of me. They can drag me to the gate of your house in Godric’s Hollow. They can put their knives at my throat and their wands at my chest but they’ll never see you and they won’t see the house. They can crack me open until I’m a wreck with all humanity ripped from my soul, but they can’t get to the secret and they’ll never get to you or Harry or James. Have faith in me, I beg you, have faith in me, Lily Potter.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
16 October 1981  
  
Sirius,  
  
James and I hold you in nothing but the highest regard. I trust all our lives in your hands, Sirius. I’m afraid, not for us, but for you. But if you still agree to do this, then we owe you everything. Please come and visit before the Charm is cast.  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
18/10  
  
Edgar and Catherine Bones dead, murdered early this morning at their home. Amelia Bones injured in separate attack but managed to fight them off. Voldemort trying to wipe out the Boneses, like he did the McKinnons. I’m getting less and less sure, you ever get the feeling sometimes that something’s going to go so fucking horribly wrong—haven’t slept for three days now. Lily, I’m fucking petrified.  
  
But I’ve got a plan, I think we can outwit the Dark Lord. Peter’s at the door, I’ve got to go, Lils. We’ll come out of this, we’ll get away scot-free from the war, ‘course we will.  
  
  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
21 October 1981  
  
I don’t believe what James told me. We were going to do this together, all three of us. Then you and him—behind my back—you _can’t_ do this. How dare you not tell me, Sirius fucking Black, you and James have betrayed me—I don’t care what your intentions are—I KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND YOU DON’T GET TO FUCKING PLAY HEROICS WITH ME.  
  
  
  
  
21 October 1981  
  
Sirius, apologies for that last letter. I was in tears when I was writing it. Maybe I’m being selfish, but I want _you_ to be the keeper. I can’t look any other person in the eye and entrust them with Harry’s safety. I don’t care who it is. I don’t trust anyone, not anyone but you. If you don’t want to do it, just tell me. Tell me right to my face.  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
23/10  
  
Lily,  
  
I’m sorry, so very sorry. I didn’t want to go behind your back on this one, but you never would have agreed. I had to rope James in, and I had to shovel deep into him to convince him of the switch. Peter will do it; it wasn’t an easy choice for me to make, but you’ll see that I’m right.  
  
Voldemort knows James and I are thick as thieves, that I’d die for him. Voldemort and his vile cohort of Death Eaters will be hot on my heels, they’ll be scrambling after a red herring, an empty shell, I’ll lead them halfway across the world, and I’ll be laughing as I go, even though I’m miles from you and James. I’ll laugh in the knowledge that the both of you will be safe and snug in your beds.  
  
Peter’s a good bloke. Give him a chance. He’s scared—he’s fragile, more so than any of us, but at least he’s honest with his fear. Us two, and James as well, we hide our fears. We pretend, we go strutting about saying we're not afraid, we’ll fight on the side of good no matter what—because there are some things that are more important than mere survival. We’re right, but we aren’t honest. Peter will be Secret Keeper, and don’t you worry about him either, because the Death Eaters will be after me. I’ve advised Peter to lay low after the Charm is performed, perhaps to take a nice sunny extended holiday in Egypt, at my expense.  
  
I’m really sorry, Lils. You say that my intentions don’t matter, but truly, I’ve done this with only yours and James’ and Harry’s safety and wellbeing in mind. I would risk the world, if only to keep all of you safe.  
  
  
Love,  
Sirius  
  
  
  
  
26 October 1981  
  
Sirius,  
  
Fidelius Charm has been cast. I’m not sure if the enchantments allow me to send and receive post? So here’s a test letter. James and I are well.  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
  
  
28/10  
  
Dear Lily,   
  
I bumped into Remus yesterday and he asked how you and James were doing. We were both unwilling to share information; I told him very little and he shut up as usual when I questioned him about his job with the werewolves. I’m afraid the conversation went badly, and we found that we were near unrecognisable to each other.  
  
After that, I went to the Three Broomsticks and I must have sat there until three in the morning, not drinking much, just letting the quiet wash all through me. I went home and slept well. Never felt so peaceful in my life.   
  
Today I’m in a marvellous mood.   
  
We live in such a strange world, Lily. We live in a world divided by betrayal, in a world where we run and hide from the madness of others. We live in a world where psychopathic lunatics are scared of babies, and babies can inspire rebellion just by being born.   
  
I conclude that more babies should henceforth be brought into this world.  
  
That night when the Fidelius Charm was cast, I was in Godric’s Hollow, just a few houses down the road from your place because I wanted to be near. I’m going to guess that it was you rather than James who cast the Charm, because—well, because I know you. Once Peter left, I walked up the road to yours and James’s house and I couldn’t find it. I must have paced up and down, past Bathilda Bagshot’s and your other neighbour, but I simply couldn’t see the house. Not a trace, couldn’t even hear a thing. It’s like you’re not even there.  
  
And that is good, I suppose.  
  
I don’t regret any choices I’ve made when it comes to you, Lily Potter. Not fifth year, not the years after. You’re lucky, you’re perhaps the luckiest person in the world. You’ve got Harry and James, and sometimes when I’m near the three of you, I feel like I’ve got some of your luck, I feel like I have something I’ve never had all my life.  
  
So you give Harry another kiss from his godfather, and please tell Prongs to hold on for a bit. Tell him it’s not much fun out here in the world anyway. You and him, hold on for a bit. Suppose I won’t get to come around much now since the Charm is in place, but I’ll write, and I’ll see you on the other side of the war, Lils!  
  
  
Yours siriusly,  
Padfoot  
  
  
  
  
31 October 1981  
  
Dear Padfoot,  
  
Miracle of miracles, I DID NOT BURN THE PUMPKIN PIE THIS YEAR. Look at it! Crisp, golden pastry and lightly-seared pumpkin top. James may be a better knitter than me, but you’ve never seen a more beautiful pie!  
  
Small victories, Padfoot. Life is comprised of small victories.  
  
A few months ago, you were asking me something about Jobberknolls before our letters got a bit sharp…well, I’ll tell you. It’s not a huge story, and I don’t know why you obsessed about it so much.   
  
Truthfully, I didn’t let the birds out of their cage. I _did_ visit them for several nights in a row, hoping they’d die when nobody except was around. And on that night you caught me slipping away from Kettleburn’s office, they died. They died one after another, and they let out those loud, awful wails (I cast Silencio to stop the sound travelling beyond the room). Supposedly every sound the birds have ever heard are compacted into their death cries, and I must say, they’ve heard some pretty awful sounds in their life.   
  
Thinking about those Jobberknoll death cries: I do recall hearing distorted echoes of you and James swearing at the poor birds, trying to teach them some cuss words as though they were a couple of parrots. I think I also heard them scream my name through one of those echoes of your voice. It was quite unsettling, really.  
  
Anyway, I wasn’t visiting the birds for their screeching; I was planning to drop Care of Magical Creatures after O.W.L.s anyway. But Jobberknoll feathers are useful in brewing truth serums; Slughorn had us perfecting those potions all term, remember? And I wanted something a little extra, to improve the potency of my potion. So I pocketed the dead birds and snuck out, but I bumped into you, and we ended up running from Filch.  
  
Then of course we ended up in that classroom, snogging a bit and suck, and all the while my hands were in my pockets, clutching the dead birds. (James is definitely not going to read this letter). Well, I ended up plucking the birds and using the feathers for my truth serum and feeding the rest of them to Filch’s cat. I achieved top marks for Potions that term.  
  
This is your small victory for the day, Padfoot. I suppose I also ought to thank you for taking that detention for me.  
  
I’m better these days. James and I have our occasional disagreement, but we’re both still getting used to the reality of being cut off from the rest of the world.  
  
Sometimes I get furious when I think about Voldemort, and how he’s hounded us until we’ve had to lock ourselves away for the safety of our child. Sometimes I think I have enough power, enough hate, to rip Voldemort apart with every curse I know. I wish I could use an Unforgivable on him, and you know which one I have in mind. Sometimes I think the only thing that stops me going down that path is because my arms are so very heavy that I can’t move them. So I look down at my arms, and there’s Harry, filling them up, sapping me of any vengeance I might be stowing in my heart.  
  
I’ve spent all year feeding and changing and fussing and cleaning and rocking and crying all over him. James and I have been singing bloody Celestina’s rendition of _God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs_ all year! Every day Harry takes more out of me, and every day, I could give him everything that I don’t have. If, for the rest of his life, he were to do nothing but continue taking and taking more out of me, until I’m all but depleted, I think I shall still be happy. I look at him and I think, yes, I could cut away the world from our lives until he were safe, until he had a chance at life, at happiness, at love. I have so much hope for him, Sirius, so much that my heart could break into two. He’s a fine walker now, toddles everywhere, tangles between legs, struts as though the world exists at his height, as though the rest of us with our worries insignificant to his arbitrary and completely perfect happiness.  
  
He’s having a short nap before dinner, though it took him some time to settle. You’re the future, I told Harry, so you’d better stop crying and get some sleep because when you wake up, you’re going to take the reins of the world.  
  
I’m sad that I won’t be seeing you for awhile, Padfoot, but of course I’m still here. You may not be able to see me, but I’m here, and I’ve got the most wonderful pumpkin pie ever.  
  
KITCHEN IS FILLING UP WITH STEAM OH FUCK I FORGOT ABOUT THE POTATOES!!!  
  
Gotta run!  
  
  
Lots of love,  
Lily  
  
  



End file.
